


You give me fever

by Atalto



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Based on a headcanon sent to Rig!, Cuddling & Snuggling, Don’t copy to another site, Fevers, Hurt/Comfort, Ill!Lance, Lance (Voltron) Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pre-Relationship, Shiro (Voltron) Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Sickfic, Whump, and then some wonderful art by River and nomorefarewellkisses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-27
Updated: 2019-02-27
Packaged: 2019-11-06 17:18:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17943908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atalto/pseuds/Atalto
Summary: 'Lance visiting shiro one day when hes sick and tired and lonely. Shiro notices lance is running a bit of a fever and has pretty bad congestion, so he makes lance some tea hunks mom gave him for colds. They sit on Shiros couch and just reminisce about the good ol days with some soft music playing in the background. Lance looks tired, older than he is, and shiro knows hes no better off. It gets late and lance drifts off, leaning his head on Shiros shoulder, who's to blame shiro for doing the same.' (anon)~Lance gets sick. It’s a good thing Shiro is only a short drive away.





	You give me fever

**Author's Note:**

> This wasn’t planned.
> 
> Have a lil tumblr Drabble that I cleaned up to chill with the big boys since apparently a lot of people liked it? So yeahhh :0  
> Cheers to Rig for posting then headcanon, to River and Nomore for letting me drag some inspiration from their absolutely gorgeous art, and to anon for sending the damn thing in!
> 
> Enjoy! (Art will be linked below)

It's a bleary Saturday afternoon when Shiro's front door bell rings for the first time in a while.

He's in the kitchen at the time, stabbing the film of a microwave lasagna with a slightly bent fork when he hears it, and two thoughts immediately run through his mind:

One, he's not armed. Two, he doesn't have enough food in his tiny Garrison-issue apartment to host someone.

There's a brief period of silence after the first ring as Shiro places the fork in the bowl of dirty dishes, before it goes again. It seems urgent, longer and louder than the first one, and there's a sudden panic in his chest as he makes his way toward the front door. He hardly gets any visitors anymore, not since the Atlas got retired and the main crew split to opposite ends of the earth. Out of his usual two, Keith hasn't dropped around in weeks, and usually rings before he comes, and Matt and Pidge always turn up with their parents in some dramatic fashion. Curtis hasn't even called since they split ways, and Hunk was never really been close enough to visit.

This, however, is neither preempted nor dramatic.

"I'm coming!" He calls hesitantly, careful to slip the letter opener Matt bought him last month in his back pocket, but there's no reply from the other side of the door. Instead, all he can hear is the muffled sound of what sounds like sniffles, thick and regular, and he frowns as he finally reaches the handle.

Then the door swings open, and instead he's faced with Lance.

Lance, with huge, exhausted dark circles under his eyes and a nose that's red from either blowing or itching. His hair's greasy, and his skin blotched, pale and ill-looking in the dim light. Weirdly, he looks practically unkempt, and the sight practically knocks the wind out of Shiro.

For someone who used to put so much effort into his appearance, it's odd, and Shiro can't place why; whatever it is, it's placed ice in his gut, and he hates it

"Hey," Lance says weakly, Shiro suddenly aware of himself staring, "I'm sorry about this, I-"

Shiro shakes his head, opening the door wider as Lance shifts awkwardly in front of him. Instantly, the robotic hand lays over where Lance is gripping his own arm tightly, large fingers slotting between Lance's own trembling ones.  
"Don't apologise," he starts, just as Lance shrugs lamely, "here, come in, it's gonna' rain soon."

To be fair, he doesn't give Lance much of a choice; instead, Shiro takes him gently by the wrist, leading him inside to shut the door behind him with his foot. He can feel Lance shaking slightly under his fingertips, despite the searing heat of his skin compared to Shiro's luke-warm house; it isn't the first sign that that something's wrong, but it adds to the growing list that's building up in his mind.

"Sorry about this," Lance repeats once Shiro leads him into the living room, and it's kind of weird to hear Lance apologising so frankly, "I didn't know where else to go, and Keith said that you-"

"You know you're always welcome here," Shiro interrupts, and he means it, seriously, although the aversion of Lance's eyes suggest that he doesn't see that, "any of you are - what's up?"

Instead of answering, Lance just seems to fold in on himself further, the sickly flush of his cheeks stark against pale skin.

"Lance?"

"I don't feel great," Lance suddenly says, voice barely above a whisper as if it isn't already obvious, "I've been home alone for the past week and I haven't been feeling great, but Hunk's visiting his family so he said to ring Keith, and Keith is off on a mission so he said to ring you-" he stops to take a deep breath, air catching in his throat audibly, and Shiro's hand flies to his back, rubbing small circles as the younger man coughs wetly.

"Keith was right, I'm glad you're here," Shiro says with a smile, and he can't avoid the shock in Lance's eyes that practically stabs him in the chest, "you really don't sound well."

Lance shrugs. "I don't feel well."  
He coughs again, into his hand this time, and Shiro decides to use the opportunity to place his hand flat against Lance's forehead; it's hot to the touch, burning against Shiro's palm, but there doesn't seem to be a hint of sweat anywhere.

If it was one thing Grandma taught him, it was how to help a fever.

"Hang tight buddy," he says once Lance's coughs dwindle, pushing himself to his feet as Lance flops back on his second-hand couch, "I've got some medicine in the kitchen, let's see if that works."

He almost misses Lance's grateful look as he leaves the living room, but the moment he sees it, he knows it burned into his memory.

It's weird to admit now, but Lance is handsome, and he doesn't know how he missed this before. Maybe it's the glowing markings that highlight his cheekbones, he thinks as he delves through the medicine cupboard for the cold and flu capsules. Maybe he's had a haircut since Voltron, or maybe he's finally grown into his already gangly limbs - Shiro noticed that Lance was practically as tall as him now when he arrived, but the thought has only just hit him now-

_Shiro, stop. He was your teammate, and you're a tired man hiding away in a flat instead of facing the world like a big boy. Why would he be interested in you?_

He finds the pills, fills a glass full of water, and leaves the room before his thoughts swallow him whole.

* * *

 

"Here, I'm sorry I took so long," he says gently as he returns to Lance, who has since kicked his shoes off and curled up in the corner of the couch, "take two of these, hopefully they should work soon."

Lance accepts the pills and water almost greedily, swallowing them quickly and chugging the water like a lost man in a desert.

"God, I feel better already," he sighs, head tipping back against the pillows as Shiro takes the glass off him before he can drop it.

There's something great about seeing a smile on Lance's face again, and it brings a flush of warmth to Shiro's chest that he tries his hardest to ignore. There's a hint of the old Lance here, of the excited lad that just wanted to touch the stars, as oppose to the shaking man shifting fearfully in Shiro's porch.

"I'm glad," Shiro replies instead, placing the glass on the coffee table, "you look it - your fever hasn't broken though, and it doesn't seem like a serious one, but I'd rather you stay here until it does."

Lance laughs harshly, and it's beautiful beside the obvious rawness of his throat. "Aw, you say that as if you care, cute."

 _But I do,_ he wants to scream, _more than you could possibly imagine._

Instead, he just grimaces, standing up to perch on the couch next to Lance. Their knees touch, and it's positively electric.

"Hey, Shiro?"

A hum.

"Is that a knife in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?"

Shiro pales, before suddenly remembering the letter opener that's still sitting in the loop of his belt. He probably looks like some kind of madman, confusing each visitor for a renegade Galra; exactly the image of recovery that he wanted to project.  
"Oh, shit- I-"

"Shiro, it's fine," Lance interrupts, and there's a slightly shaking hand on his bicep as he lays it flat on the table, "I know how you feel."

There's an underlying understanding, in both the air and through the hand against him, and something that suggests it's not just his physical health that Lance is currently struggling with. Shame runs in Shiro's veins like wildfire. And then the fact that he's not alone in not quite being able to adjust to civilian life hits him, and it's rather reassuring.

"Sorry," Shiro apologises finally, and he hears Lance click his tongue playfully, "I wasn't expecting anyone."

Lance nods in understanding, patting Shiro's arm as he eases back against the cushions. Silence practically creeps in, settling between them as Lance shuffles up to press himself to Shiro's side; it does nothing but make him even more aware of his own touch-starvation, how eager he is to lean into the contact that Lance offers.

"Do you remember that time back in Voltron," Lance starts, and the chance of topic is almost a relief, "when you, me and Pidge raided Space Alcatraz?"

"How could I forget?" Shiro replies with a laugh, and he's not lying. He nearly cried twice that day; once from frustration over Slav being pedantic, the second time after hearing Lance call himself a seventh wheel over a communications line he had forgotten to mute.

"Do you remember you called me the Sharpshooter?"

Again, how could he forget?

"I never stopped thinking about that for a week," Lance admits, letting Shiro curl an arm around him and resting a now sweaty head on Shiro's shoulders, "is that weird? Hunk said it was weird, and Pidge, and-"

"It's not weird," Shiro states, and Lance relaxes against him immediately, "you called me your hero once, and I can't can't say as it ever properly left my mind."

He looks down, just in time to see the most tender smile he's ever seen on Lance's face.

"Your fever's broken," Shiro states, and Lance grimaces as he starts to pull away, "no, it's okay - do you feel any better?"

"Thirsty," Lance admits honestly, "but I'm comfy."

"I'll get you one-"

"No." Lance's grip is tight around Shiro's arm as he tries to stand, pulling him back down into the couch. "Stay, please, I'll get one in a minute."

Shiro doesn't really have much of a choice at that, particularly when Lance hisses and tugs at the blanket that waits on the opposite arm of the couch. It's only usually used when Shiro can't help but fall asleep late at night when the shadows seem alive, so it's a change to see Lance draping it over them as the golden-grey evening light begins to filter through the blinds.

"I'm tired," he admits quietly, and there's hints at something that's much bigger than just a fever laying latent under the surface, but Shiro doesn't want to touch on that today.

"Stay here tonight," Shiro feels himself say before he can stop himself, "I- I don't want you being alone and ill."

God only knows where Lance will sleep tonight if he says yes. He's much too long for the couch, but the Garrison only had the grace to give Shiro a one-bedroomed flat. Oh well.

It's a bad attempt at an excuse but Lance takes it, snuggling closer as Shiro's arm pulls the blankets up over their shoulders. It's comfy, a kind of intimacy that Shiro hasn't experienced for a long time, and the fear of Lance rejecting him disappears with the sensation of Lance slotting himself neatly against Shiro's side. There's something about it that just feels right, like how they fit other like puzzle pieces; Shiro's splintered and ripped from being jammed in the wrong places but somehow, he feels whole again.

He feels Lance breathe a sigh of contentment, breath brushing over his exposed collarbone. Something tells him this was probably good for the both of them.

"Can we order take out?" Lance suggests, and Shiro's stomach rumbles on cue, "I know Mama always says to starve a fever, but I'm hungry."

Shiro rolls his eyes, but unlocks his phone anyway. "Pizza?"

The microwave lasagna will have to wait.

* * *

 

When Lance wakes up later, the first thing he does is panic.

He doesn't know where he is - the room is unfamiliar, grey and dark with moonlight bleeding in through thin curtains. He doesn't even remember how he got here, or what he's doing here, or why-

Then the person next to him snores, muscled arm around his waist squeezing him gently before going lax, and the afternoon hits him like a ton of bricks.

Oh shit.

So he got ill and forgot how to take care of himself, and ended up on the doorstep of the man he's had a crush on since the war. Of course past-Lance would fuck him up like this; now he's unable to move, pressed against Shiro and aware of his breath fluttering over his hair.

Not that he exactly wanted to move, that is-

"Lance," Shiro suddenly grunts, and Lance snaps out of his thoughts to see a glowing arm tugging a blanket back over them, "you okay?"

"Just fine," Lance replies with a small smile, and it's worth it to see the pure happiness that seems to flow off Shiro in waves, "go back to sleep, I'm not moving."

Shiro hums, before settling back against the couch and giving Lance another squeeze. "Good, I worry 'bout you."

Lance doesn't know how to react to that.

"You live way too large, and you don't tell us stuff - I worry about you."

With that, Lance shuffles into his side, pressing his cheek against the soft material of Shiro's old Garrison hoodie; it's warm, and smells like home, and he can't help the fluttering of tired eyelids.

"Sleep, Lance," Shiro rumbles, "you'll feel better."

He does.

**Author's Note:**

> And time for sources!  
> Rig’s original post: http://rigb0ner.tumblr.com/post/182925469752/lance-visiting-shiro-one-day-when-hes-sick-and
> 
> River’s art: (1) http://r-i-v-e-r.tumblr.com/post/182927355797/lance-visiting-shiro-one-day-when-hes-sick-and  
> (2) http://r-i-v-e-r.tumblr.com/post/182972991717/lance-visiting-shiro-one-day-when-hes-sick-and
> 
> Nomorefarewellkisses’ art: http://nomorefarewellkisses.tumblr.com/post/182929465137/lance-visiting-shiro-one-day-when-hes-sick-and
> 
> Thank y’all sm for reading!!!


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